


The Things I Do For You

by books_and_tea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Caring Dean, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Gen, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Vomiting, sick!Sam, teen!chesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 01:02:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/books_and_tea/pseuds/books_and_tea
Summary: Poor Sammy is sick, but luckily Dean is here to help him out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Dean is 16, Sam is 12. My first ever fanfic so reviews would be wonderful!  
> I hope that you enjoy it :)

Friday nights, for Dean Winchester, were almost always amazing. They usually involved good alcohol, great music and even better chicks. This Friday night however, was not one of those nights. Currently he was kneeling on the bathroom floor, trying valiantly not to gag as he cleaned up his little brother’s puke. The little brother in question was in bed, tossing and moaning, but still asleep. For now, thought Dean as he glanced away from the technicoloured mess in front of him, trying desperately to calm his roiling stomach. 

Sam Winchester always got sick the same way; belly first. From the moment he came home from school that afternoon, tired, pale and mumbling something about not being hungry, Dean had known that it was only a matter of hours until little Sammy would be doing some praying to the porcelain god. What he hadn’t counted on however, was Sam leaving it to the last minute for the mad dash between his bed and the motel bathroom. Long story short, Sam really needs to work on his short distance sprints. 

Dean, of course, had come to the rescue, helping his brother ride out the agonising heaves. The amount of times Dean had nursed Sam through stomach flu, food poisoning, appendicitis, you name it, he never got used to the sounds and smells that came with it. Fighting his way through sympathetic gags, he brushed sweaty hair of Sam’s forehead and rubbed circles into his back. “Let it out Sammy,” he had murmured. “I gotcha.” When the heaves subsided he had deposited Sam into bed, waste basket under his head.

Turning back towards the bathroom, a silent war was being waged inside his head. He really did not want to clean up what looked like Sammy’s entire food intake for the week off the floor, but he knew that within a matter of hours they would be back in there, and the smell really wouldn’t help. With a sigh and a quiet sonofabitch, he walked back in.

It was 12:43am and despite his best efforts, warm vomit had seeped into the knees of his jeans. On the bright side, the vomit was gone and the cheap motel air freshener had done a pretty good job at eliminating most of the smell. Even better, he’d managed to do it all in under 10 minutes, and had only gagged once. Mentally congratulating himself and turning towards the doorway with the hope of changing his pants, a whimpered “De-” stopped him in his tracks. 

Sam had curled in on himself, knees drawn into his stomach and cold sweat dripping down his neck. Dean crouched at the side of the bed, close enough to be supportive, but far enough back that he was just out of the splash zone.  
“You alright Sammy?” he asked cautiously.  
Sam shook his head in response, curling in impossibly tighter.  
“You gonna hurl?”  
A convulsive swallow was all he got as a reply.  
“Can you make it to the bathroom?”  
Sam paled even further and began gagging.

“Crap,” Dean muttered, and sprung into action. Waste basket in hand he hauled Sammy to the edge of the bed so his head stuck over the side. Just as he got the bucket under his head, Sammy let rip. ‘Jeez, how much does this kid eat?’, Dean thought to himself as more puke than seem humanly possible splattered its way into the bin. Sam quickly ran out of matter to puke, but was cursed with dry heaves that left him breathless and shaking, tears streaking down his face. Dean placed the basket on the floor and shifted Sam so he was sitting upright. One hand on his shoulders, the other supporting his head, he looked into Sam’s eyes.

“Come on Sammy, calm down,” he murmured as dry heaves wracked his body. “There’s nothing left, just breathe for me.” Sam collapsed onto Dean’s chest, hands fisting in his shirt as he sobbed desperately.  
“Aw, come on kiddo. You’re okay.”  
Dean shifted his arms so he had his little brother in a tight embrace.  
“Just breathe Sammy, just breathe.”

It seemed like hours had passed before Sam drew quiet, the odd hiccup the only thing piercing the silence. Sam drew back, wiping his face on Dean’s shirt. Glancing down at the unholy trinity of tears, snot and puke smeared across his shoulder, Dean gave Sam a gentle shove.  
“Dude, gross.” 

A brief smile crossed Sam’s face as he lay down, eyelids drooping. Dean smiled down at him and wipes a final tear off Sammy’s cheek.  
“Get some sleep kiddo. I’ll be here,” he whispers as he climbs off the bed and…knocks over the can full of Sammy-barf. Not even bothering to look down at the pooling mess on the carpet, he lets out a sigh. As he walks over to the bathroom to retrieve the sponge he spares an exasperated look to the heavens. Jeez, he thinks. The things I do for him.


End file.
